


Clairvoyant Vibrations

by FantasticNumberNine



Series: John Watson and the Prisoner of Azkaban [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Again, BAMF Mycroft, Crossover, Divination, First Kiss, Gen, Greg is surprised, Guess I'm a liar, Illicit Hogsmeade trips, John is also surprised, Kissing, Look at all these tags, M/M, Oops, Potterlock, Quidditch, Shakespearean insults, Shrieking Shack, Sorry Not Sorry, Teenlock, WHAT?!, jim's a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasticNumberNine/pseuds/FantasticNumberNine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John sneaks off to Hogsmeade with Mycroft, Greg thinks it's a bad idea, and he's probably right, but will John listen? On top of it all, Mycroft has gone unpredictable, and John's got the Quidditch Cup Final to worry about...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clairvoyant Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> *disclaimer*
> 
> I'd like to formally blame this installment on the heat.

Greg became a celebrity overnight--news of Black's attempted attack had spread like wildfire through the school, and Greg's part in it grew fantastically over the week. 

Mycroft hid his panic (poorly) with exaggerated eye-rolls and quiet scoffing noises at some of Greg's wilder retellings, which in turn caused John to imitate his faux exasperation, but with real feeling.

John watched Molly dash out of the Great Hall with her grandmother's Howler until Mycroft prodded his arm, a letter from Hagrid in his hand addressed to the John, inviting him for tea that night.

"I've got somethin' ter discuss with you," Hagrid said seriously that night, sitting beside John.

"What?" asked John.

"Your friends--"

John pushed his tea away forcefully, "Greg is not--"

"Greg is still yer friend, John, ye forgave Mycroft for yer broom, yeh'll get over whatever 'tis Greg said in a temper o'er his dead pet."

John glared at his tea, jaw clenched tight.

"He said Mycroft is just using me!" John exploded, jumping to his feet to pace around the small cabin--Buckbeak, who'd been eating on Hagrid's bed, paused mid-crunch to look up at John. "He said only _he_ could control what I said and thought, just because he met me first! Well the joke's on him, isn't it? I met _Moriarty_ first!"

Hagrid looked John calmly in the eye, "Greg said all that, did he?"

Buckbeak trilled softly.

"When's the case? For Buckbeak?" John said abruptly, changing the subject. 

"Friday--Greg's been helpin' me with it--I've got two beds booked on the Knight Bus..."

There was a crowd around the notice-board in Gryffindor tower when John returned that night--

"Hogsmeade, next weekend." Mycroft had appeared beside John, making him jump. "I suppose there's no use asking you to stay here?"

John followed Mycroft away from the crowd to an unoccupied window seat.

"Filch hasn't blocked the passage to Honeydukes, so, no."

Mycroft sighed. "You will bring your cloak this time, at least?"

"I'm not totally stupid," John grinned.

Mycroft's only reply was a raised eyebrow.

Saturday morning was bright and breezy, and John was itching to get out of the castle, and it must have shown.

"You're sneaking out, aren't you?" Greg hissed behind him.

John spun around, he'd been waving goodbye at Mycroft--who would be waiting for him at Honeydukes. 

"No--"

"You're a bad liar, John," Greg huffed. "I got _attacked_ , John! In our tower! And you're still--"

"Yes, that's the thing, isn't it?" John spat, "I am not safer locked away in a tower! I _am_ going out today, because if I'm gonna die, I'm going to live first, so bugger off!"

John shoved past him, climbing up to the third floor in a temper. He shoved his back down into the passage, but then he had to shake off Molly and Professor Snape, so when he finally able to meet Mycroft, he was in a black mood.

"What happened to you?" Mycroft muttered, picking out several bars of Honeydukes best chocolate and putting them in his nearly overflowing basket.

"Are you buying out the shop?" John poked at the basket, careful to stay under his invisibility cloak.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "No, and you're changing the subject."

"Had a Snape shaped problem," John grabbed some chocolate of his own and added them to Mycroft's basket. "And Greg is an arse."

"A very average sort of day," Mycroft said quietly. "Let's explore the village, shall we?"

Mycroft checked prices for owls to Canada--his mother had yet another line dancing competition--allowing John the opportunity to look around at the hundreds of owls in varying sizes.

With a long suffering sigh, Mycroft took John's money and orders as they treated carefully through Zonko's joke shop. John didn't miss, however, that Mycroft had bought himself a small bag of interesting pranks.

They skipped the Three Broomsticks in favor of the nice weather, and instead made their way to the Shrieking Shack, supposed to be the most haunted building in England. 

John laughed at the very unimpressed look Mycroft gave the ramshackle building.

"Well I really don't see what all the fuss is about--it's not even that old! I'd say it's been standing no more than thirty years. How did such a frightening story become lost and forgotten in thirty years?"

"Not everyone's got your impressive memory, Mycroft," John smiled. 

Mycroft made an inelegant noise. 

They were alone on the hill, and John was feeling very warm under the cloak, but as he made to remove it, they heard voices ascending from the other side.

"... Should have an owl from my father any time now--"

It was Moriarty, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"--Such a shame I couldn't be there to hear that great hairy moron defend himself--"

Moriarty caught sight of Mycroft immediately and broke into an exaggerated grin.

"Holmes! I supposed you're looking at the best Lestrade will have to offer you when we finish school--or, would have offered, word around the castle is you haven't spoken since Christmas. Smart of you, Watson's a much better choice if you actually have intentions of moving up in the world."

John grabbed the back of Mycroft's robes, "Leave him to me."

"Speaking of things that are lower than dirt in the world, we were just talking about your oafish friend, Hagrid. Do you think he'll cry when they cut off that hippogriff's--"

SPLAT!

Moriarty's head jerked forward as a handful of mud hit the back of his head. Muck oozed down his slicked back hair, onto the collar of his expensive looking cloak.

Mycroft was smiling beatifically.

"Who did that?" Moriarty spun, one hand attempting to wipe away the mud.

"It rather is _quite_ haunted here, isn't it?" Mycroft's voice shook just at the end, as though he was struggling not to laugh.

Crabbe and Goyle looked ready to bolt--they couldn't hit what they couldn't see.

SPLATTER!

Foul smelling, green sludge caught all three of them this time.

"Over there!" Moriarty shouted, smearing the stuff away from his eyes.

Unfortunately, Mycroft was the only person Crabbe saw, as he made his lumbering way towards him, John stuck out his leg and Crabbe went tumbling, grabbing at the air around him and pulling at John's cloak.

For one, horrifying moment, Jim Moriarty stared at John, before John yanked the cloak back up over his head and ran.

John burst into the Gryffindor common room out of breath just as Greg announced "Checkmate!"

"You're cheating! I don't know how, but you must be!" Sherlock shouted, manhandling his outraged pieces back to their starting positions.

"Tell that to McGonagall's giant chess set I beat back in first year!" Greg crowed, his own set of chess pieces doing a victory dance on the board.

Molly was seated between them and noticed John first, "Hello, John. Blimey, you don't look so good!"

"I'm--fine..." John panted, leaning heavily on a sofa. 

Greg stared at him darkly. "Get caught?"

" _No_ , I--is that somebody's owl?" In an attempt to avoid Greg's 'I told you so' face, John had turned his attention to the windows, where a barn owl was pecking and flapping to be let in.

Greg jumped up and ran to the window, "That'll be from Hagrid!"

The portrait hole opened behind John, who turned to see Mycroft crawl in, a harried look on his face.

"You ran off, you idiot!" Mycroft snapped, smoothing his robes. "He wasn't going to tell on you, that's not his style--now we're both of us stuck with owing Moriarty _a favor now for a favor later_ \--"

"You should both read this," Greg interrupted somberly.

"Oh, are you speaking to me now?" Mycroft said derisively.

Greg met his frosty gaze, his dark eyes shining with held back tears, and Mycroft blinked, taking an unconscious step forward.

"Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is gonna be executed."

John took the letter from Greg:

_Dear Greg,_  
_We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed._  
_Beaky has enjoyed London._  
_I won't forget all the help you gave us._  
_Hagrid_

"They can't do this," said John. "It's bollocks! Buckbeak isn't dangerous!"

"Moriarty's father will have frightened the committee into it," Mycroft muttered angrily. "Doddery old fools; but there will be an appeal--hopeless as it might be. I'm sorry Gregory, I was supposed to be helping you and I let our feud to go on instead. You won't be alone in preparing for the appeal, I swear it--oomph!"

Greg had thrown himself at Mycroft, wrapping himself around him like an octopus, his head buried in Mycroft's shoulder, likely ruining his jumper with salty tears. Mycroft stared at John in terrified bewilderment, his arms held out stiffly at his sides for a moment before he brought one hand up to cautiously, awkwardly, pat Greg on the head.

John could _feel_ Sherlock rolling his eyes at them from his front row sofa seat beside Molly, who, from the sound of it, had swatted Sherlock for his accompanying noise of disgust.

Greg pulled away both slowly and abruptly--John wasn't sure how--and wiped at his eyes in a manner that dared anyone to call him out on his crying outburst.

"I'm sorry about Scabbers!" Mycroft burst out, very obviously still uneasy at Greg's unexpected limpet imitation.

Greg sighed, a bit wetly, then shrugged. "He was old. And a bit useless. I shouldn't taken that out on you. And who knows, maybe Mum and Dad'll get me an owl now."

John, Greg, and Mycroft tried talking to Hagrid after their next Care of Magical Creatures class, but none of their reassurances seemed to get through the tablecloth-sized handkerchief he was crying into.

"That oaf would drown you in tears if you let him," Moriary laughed. He was waiting for the three of them by the castle doors, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Have you ever seen anything so pathetic? And he's supposed to be our teacher!"

John and Greg bristled, both moving towards Moriarty with unclear intentions, but Mycroft got there first. 

SMACK!

Mycroft had hit Moriarty hard enough to send him staggering back, keeping to his feet only because Crabbe and Goyle were there to catch him. John and Greg stared, wide-eyed, at their friend.

"The only pathetic person I've met so far in this castle is _you_ , you paper-faced villain!"

"Mycroft--" Greg said weakly, carefully reaching out to grab Mycroft's arm as it reared back to strike again.

"Get _off_ , Gregory!"

Mycroft pulled out his wand. Moriarty took a step back, a hint of a smile playing around his eyes. Crabbe and Goyle looked to Moriarty for instructions in bewilderment.

"Let's go, boys," Moriarty said lowly, his falsely cheery countenance returning.

They watched him leave, Greg waited until they disappeared to gaze in both shock and awe at Mycroft.

"Where did you learn to do _that_?"

"John, you had better beat him in that quidditch final," Mycroft said angrily. "I absolutely will not stand it if that little spider wins!"

John nodded, still a bit stunned.

"Eh, we're due in Charms?"

John and Greg lost Mycroft somewhere along the way, because they didn't see him again until after lunch--after the Cheering Charms had faded. He was sitting at a table in their common room, fast asleep, face down on his Ancient Runes book.

John prodded him awake with care.

"You know," Greg said, flipping through the Ancient Runes book, "Maybe you're trying to do too much, Myc. What're you gonna do O.W.L. year?"

Mycroft shot Greg a scathing look before stuffing the book in his bag and running off to apologize to Professor Flitwick. He met them just in time for Divination, where they would be starting crystal balls.

"I thought we weren't doing this until next term," Greg muttered.

"At least we've finished palmistry," John whispered back. "I'm not sure I could handle my life line shrinking _again_."

They hushed their giggling as Professor Trelawney made yet another dramatic entrance from the shadows.

"The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am determined to give you sufficient practice."

Mycroft snorted loudly. 

"'The fates have informed her...' Who sets the exams? She does! What an _amazing_ prediction!" 

Mycroft had made no effort to keep his voice low, but Trelawney continued as if she had not heard him. Greg was struggling very hard not to laugh and John was resting his face in his palms.

"--Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of class."

John felt incredibly foolish staring into the crystal ball, trying to keep his mind empty when thoughts like 'this is stupid' kept drifting across it. Greg's barely stifled giggles and Mycroft's constant tutting didn't help.

"Seen anything yet?" He asked after a quarter of an hour of absolute boredom.

"Yeah, there's a burn on this table," Greg pointed. "Someone's spilled their candle."

"This is such a waste of time," Mycroft hissed. "I could be doing something useful--like jumping into the lake starkers!"

Greg guffawed loudly.

"Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents within their Orb?" Professor Trelawney murmured over the clanking of her bangles as she passed them.

"No," Greg whispered. "It's pretty clear what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight."

John and Mycroft burst out laughing.

"Now, really!" Exclaimed Professor Trelawney, as the entire class turned to stare at them. "You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes with an annoyed smile that boded ill.

"Perhaps you might show us how to appease the vibrations?" He asked with false innocence.

Greg stuffed his hand in his mouth to stop laughing out loud.

John groaned quietly as she approached their table, glaring darkly at Mycroft.

"There is something here!" Trelawney whispered, her face disturbingly close to the ball, reflecting in her enormous spectacles. "Something moving, but what is it?"

John closed his eyes in exasperated resignation.

"That damn Grim _again_ , goodness me, John! Haven't you given that beast the slip yet?" Mycroft proclaimed with loud annoyance.

There was unmistakable anger in Professor Trelawney's face as she rose quietly to look down on Mycroft's daringly smug face.

"I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my _dear_ , it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly _mundane_."

Mycroft's face had slowly transformed during Trelawney's speech, from superiority smug to icy indifference. He stood slowly in the tense silence that followed, neatly packing away his textbook and turning, without a word or glance, and striding towards the trapdoor, kicking it open and climbing down the ladder and out of sight.

"Mycroft's having one hell of a day, eh?" Greg muttered to John, looking quite impressed.

"Yeah..."

The Easter holidays were the opposite of relaxing--never had the third-years had so much homework, though none so much as Mycroft, who, even without Divination had more work than anyone, especially since he'd taken on the added responsibility of Buckbeak's appeal alongside Greg.

John, meanwhile, was struggling to fit his homework around Quidditch practices every day and endless tactical discussions with Wood, centered largely around John's waiting to catch the Snitch until they were more than fifty points up.

The night before the match, one week after their short holiday, not a single Gryffindor was working on their schoolwork, everyone of them wound up over the match the next day. Even Mycroft had refused to touch his books, and was pacing anxiously around their claimed corner of the overly loud common room. 

John was sitting tensely next to Greg, who was watching his brothers' antics across the common room with a fond smile. 

"You're going to be fine," Mycroft told him, who almost seemed to believe his own words.

"You've got a _Firebolt_!" Greg added enthusiastically.

John nodded, his stomach writhing. It was a relief when Wood suddenly stood up and declared it time for the team to get to bed.

John and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall to enormous applause at breakfast, both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff cheering along with Gryffindor house. They were applauded once more as they exited the hall.

"Good luck, John!" Soo Lin Yao called out, and John ducked his head, blushing to the tips of his ears.

No one spoke as they changed into their scarlet robes in the changing rooms. Wood couldn't even muster up one of his usual pre-match pep talks. Just, "OK, it's time, let's go."

The match was the most violent quidditch game John had ever seen or participated in, but as John pulled out of his final dive, Snitch in hand, with the stadium erupting in cheers around him, he thought he wouldn't trade a single bruise for another match.

Wood was sobbing into one shoulder, and Fred and George were pounding exuberantly on the other, chanting with Angelina, Alicia, and Katie--

"We've won the cup! We've won the cup!"

As John and the rest of the team were hoisted into the air he saw Hagrid, covered in crimson rosettes. Percy Lestrade was jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity lost. Professor McGonagall was sobbing harder than Wood, wiping her joyful tears with an enormous Gryffindor flag.

And there were Greg and Mycroft, fighting their way towards him, beaming and speechless. Then Mycroft pulled him right off of some seventh year's shoulders, and kissed him straight on the mouth, his cheeks flaming as he pulled away unapologetically. 

Greg didn't stop laughing until well into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so I said I'd not bring pairings into this until 4th year. What can I say? Mycroft was doing all sorts of crazy things in this "chapter." But. While Johncroft is a pairing I can be convinced on occasion to support, it's not going to be explored extensively by me. Probably. It's not part of my plan. 
> 
> Yes. There is a plan. It's hiding under an invisibility cloak. Currently. But it is real. 
> 
> I'm rambling because I'm melting. It's stupidly hot here.


End file.
